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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695375">Feels Like Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerumbird/pseuds/littlerumbird'>littlerumbird</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Interstellar Oceans [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: The Next Generation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Imzadi (Star Trek)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:07:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,377</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695375</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerumbird/pseuds/littlerumbird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are so many ways that Will is home to Deanna. But here are three.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>William Riker/Deanna Troi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Interstellar Oceans [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026340</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Feels Like Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somewhere on an uninhabited corridor in Deck thirty-something, at least three years into her time on Enterprise, it occurs to Deanna that it’s not simply that the Enterprise feels like home. But that it’s being with <em>Will</em> that feels like home. When he’s pulled her for a long walk to the uninhabited corridors because they’ve come off of another crisis. Everyone pitched in, and they pulled through together, as always.</p><p>And now it’s gamma shift, and she should be sleeping, but she was still too keyed up. Meditation allowed her to let go of the initial stress, but her mind is still running through the paces. And before she could reach out to see if he was still awake, he was at her door. And then falling in step through the quiet and dimmed corridors to the turbo lift and the deepest parts of the ship. The way his hand finds hers, fingers lacing together, is as normal as breathing.</p><p>As ship’s counselor, she’s more or less always on duty. Deanna knew this in her last years at university. Counselors don’t really go off duty. In most situations, a distant part of her brain is always following its training, always assessing and noting body language and tone. She isn’t quite as busy as most people think. She has her time on the bridge, and plenty of weekly appointments. But most of those seeking regular services meet with her every two or three weeks at most. Imminent crises aside, though there are plenty of those, too.</p><p>She spends regular time in Ten Forward and is prepared at any given moment to be interrupted. Not so much interrupted, more that people are more at ease in the common space. It’s less intimidating than her office. And those who struggle to reach out via communique or to make their way to her office have fewer qualms about slipping into the chair across the table from her. This is something Will taught her. It’s why he’s never used his own office.</p><p>There are things people will say, <em>need</em> to say, to senior officers in the openness of Ten Forward that they struggled through in a formal space. There are certain things they vent to Guinan. Deanna doesn’t even want to consider how overrun she would be without the calm and patient ear of their bar tender who does so much more than mix the drinks. She’s a haven for Deanna, too. She’s always seemed to know, in her own way, when to send chocolate and when to pull up a chair (even when Deanna has insisted she didn’t need or want to talk).</p><p>Will never makes demands on her time. He’s content to join her for meals and walks. Or let her be. They’ve had a few conversations that might be sessions. Always in her office, and it’s only now occurring to her how neatly he keeps this boundary. This is only one of many walks late at night. No conversation unless she initiates it.</p><p>But they walk at ease. Not needing to fill the silence with unnecessary words. It reminds her of the tranquility gardens outside of Madera. One of her home planet’s most sacred sites. Where they all walk in silence. People visit and simply <em>are.</em> During these late shifts when he should be sleeping—gods know his sleep is far more likely to be interrupted than hers—instead he is here. And his presence, here with her, feels like home.</p><p>***</p><p>Not many people have seen her anger. She has an incredibly long fuse, but when it ignites… Deanna is still unrepentant over the ceremonial gong. Besides, it was her mother’s travel version. The family heirloom was still safely ensconced at Fifth House.</p><p>The captain has seen her rage. It’s rare. Even with him, she holds back. Because he’s the captain. And she’s the counselor, and it’s not good for morale for any senior officer to unleash intense emotions. They all have had moments of frustration. And they deal with their emotions. But beyond the gong, her anger has been limited to some brusque at best, impassioned at worst, venting. The ugliest was to Beverly in sickbay when she lost her empathic senses.</p><p>And here again, Will is the exception. He has seen the full range of her emotions. The public joys and concerns. The private elations and rawest anger. And, with the exception of serious injuries and Tasha’s funeral, he is the only person who has really seen her cry. Seen her unleash the most painful fears that have shaken her to her core.</p><p>She has always struggled with voicing her hurt and grief. And it’s not a mystery to Deanna because she spent formative years deeply grieving in a planet that would not let her give words to those emotions. So it was little wonder she had stood, barely inside her own quarters, shaking with emotions and hugging herself as though she could physically hold herself together.</p><p>Will had known. He’d known, known since she was sitting on a bio bed in sickbay insisting it was all some temporary phase, that she was terrified. And needed, more than anything, to feel some of the emotions she was trying to deaden as thoroughly as her empathic abilities.</p><p>She had known he would come as soon as his responsibilities allowed. Deanna had sensed him on the other side of the door, and she knew him too well to think he would leave without talking to her. She’d half considered not admitting him at all. But in the moment she had convinced herself that she was simply going to get this conversation out of the way and be done with it. That maybe it was a blessing, for a few minutes, not to be able to feel his emotions overshadowing her decision.</p><p>But it turned out that her whole being craved his comfort more than being away from here. And the first steps were fully of aching vulnerability. But the moment she was in arm’s reach, his arms were there, hands around each upper arm and pulling her in like gravity. The emotion broke, and she felt like she was breaking with it</p><p>Those solid arms that could practically band around her twice held her together when she couldn’t hold herself. Will’s arms. And giving into the depth of her grief and confusion, while he held on through her maelstrom, felt like home.</p><p>***</p><p>They both sleep in such a mix of deep and light sleep. It’s a toss-up over who will be woken up by what these days. But it’s a given that she wakes up every time he’s called to the bridge with a soft sound of groggy irritation. Deanna suspects she makes the same sound when someone is calling her at oh-three-hundred hours.</p><p>The bed is never as warm without him. Even with Starfleet technology that warms the mattress for them. Even with all the blankets to herself, no matter if she already has the lion’s share. But Deanna knows that Will lowers the temperature an extra few degrees every night so that she’ll snuggle closer. She’s never told him that she’s on to his game.</p><p>Whatever this call is, it doesn’t require her. Even if she’s snugging into the warm place he’s left behind, even if he’s tucking blankets around her and pressing a kiss of apology to her forehead… her half formed thoughts of irritation at the scenario go out to him and get a muted assurance in return. She’s getting too skilled at falling back to sleep after these moments.</p><p>Deanna doesn’t know how he managed to slip back in to bed, or when he did without waking her—only that when she wakes, it is to a warm arm banded around her waist and the familiar warmth and smell of her husband. She doesn’t need to extend her senses to the rest of the crew. If Will is here and so deeply asleep, then all is well.</p><p>With a yawn, she rolls to her other side and shifts slightly. Arms hug her closer, though there isn’t the slightest flicker of consciousness from Will behind her. Spooned against him, Deanna yawns and drifts back down to dreams because these arms will forever be her home.</p>
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